young + fresh art

Month: October 2014

three poems about body worship, heavy atmospheres, and YOUR NAME by Erini Katopodis. Art by Erini Katopodis. My Body Is Not A Temple My body is not a temple: My body is not something for you to kneel at, throw offerings to Or spear down others in the name of. It will not grant you mercy. A king sipping bitter leaves on his throne is not my king, His sacrifices are not my type, His salvation is not my liking, My body is not a temple, It is a house made of sea: I hang pictures like I please, And I shoot like breeze. I let you near. Then storm loud and heavy when you Are no longer welcome, When I grow tired: And yes, There are men I let admire from afar, But don’t let proximity fool you, I send Great heavy waves to chase them down on land; There are those I love close to the sand. There are men who cast their boats out to the sea, and every time, I Reach …

I try to use a variety of lines to create and eggsaturate a form. If I see that I’m repeating the same line too much (in hatching or crosshatching), I try to make my own line, do my own thing. That usually adds a character to my work that removes any sort of formula. By Mavis Figuls.

Poetry by Margaret Zhang, Grade 10 Castilleja School. Photography by Somi Jun. Overcooked Affection We’re sitting in the choral room, mouths in O’s and lips stained rosy, when I find myself misplaced among quarter notes and bar lines I don’t recognize, and so I fasten together my lips like closure and ask, Where did we start? You gesture to a note the same shape as your unguarded lips, but the minute you pull away, I forget which is which. And if my flowering vessels knew what it meant to slumber, I would ask you these questions until my lungs gave out, until my windpipe ached with cavities and soot. Some days, your perspiration smells of rain and the lime-smeared bloom beneath your cardboard skin, and as we trod up and down the hummocks of this overcooked town, weave left and right through powdery houses we used to know, I want to ask you, Where did we start? When we grow wrinkled, I’ll unlatch my wrists from the shackles of your squeaking ribcage, let myself become my own. …

Photograph by Taek. Words by Perah Ralin. All rights reserved. Cigarette smoke slipped from her lips as she talked, floating past crusty lip liner and dissipating in the muggy summer air. Her elbows and arms fluttered when she got excited, her frail body shaking with the movement. She reached for her worn navy backpack as she stood up, spilling the contents of it across her lap and towards me, inciting a small expulsion of air from her nostrils. I help her collect her wrinkled math homework, and my fingertips brush hers. She looks up at me for a second, expression unreadable, before she bares her teeth in some sort of uncomfortable smile. Once, I made a joke and she laughed. When I get home, I lie in my ancient sticker covered bunk bed and imagine her laugh. I imitate it into the dark, and I almost get the gravelly sputtering start right, but I stop when my father comes in and tells me that I’m disturbing my mother’s sleep. The next time I see her, …

Spoken word poetry, written and performed by Liz Parker. Still Night Two Transcripts still night: i ask you to gratify me; satisfy me don’t be alarmed by me don’t cower from my embrace – just because you can’t face the extreme struggle and force exertion required to lift my unearthly body when i have fallen – just because i have a thousand year’s worth of thoughts in my head and a thousand year’s worth of stones weighing me down. i ask you how it is possible that my heavy heart doesn’t fall straight through the roof on which i sit; your only answer is that when i lose my mind to the stars and i lose my being to the universe, my unconscious sincerity insists upon pointing out the irony in the way that humans think they’re supposed to be sane. each visible silhouette screams to be noticed and pretends to be as vital to our mental image as the background, just as each troubled teen grasps frantically for a connection and a lover and …

Flash fiction and artwork by Benny Feldmann. Click on pictures to enlarge. Mangos Deep within Jack’s stomach, a mass of seven partway digested mangos clumped together to form a large obstruction which plugged entry into his small intestine. His stomach protested in a deep, bellowing roar, sending pain thrashing through his belly. Jack was overcome by an urge to throw up, right then and there, fifty feet from the Intelligentsia Cafe, five minutes before his 3 o’clock interview, surrounded by the slow, thick afternoon crowd of downtown shoppers. It was as if a rubber hammer was swung upwards into his abdomen. He groaned, grabbing his button-up shirt and twisting. His tie hit his face when he bent down, and as he pulled it away he had no choice but look directly at his black slacks and glossy new shoes. The interview. He forced himself to a standing position, ploughing forward and swallowing the urge to puke. Normally at this time of the day, Jack could be found on the corner of Union and Raymond, standing …

7 song mix from Jane Lane, compiled by Sophie + Tunnel, to listen to while reading: “Jane Lane consists of… Sophie – Vox/guitar Jake -Guitar Alex – Bass Lucas – Drums Listen and cry or gtfo xOxO” – Jane Lane Music Jane Lane vocalist and songwriter Sophie Negrini talks power-pop, abandoned churches, and the future Jane Lane is a pop/rock/more band, consisting of four students who met in high school. Since Jane Lane’s formation, founder and vocalist Sophie has moved onto college, but the band still devotedly releases music via SoundCloud and is currently trying to release a 5 song EP. Teenage music inspo! Read on. 1. What is Jane Lane? How did the band form? Jane Lane is a character from the cartoon Daria! She is super rad and gives no fucks. Jane Lane formed when I was gonna play a show at the Battery Books in South Pasadena and I needed a bassist/drummer. My sister and her boyfriend played with me for a while after that, but then became too busy. Jake, Lucas, Alex and I …

I tend to photograph small gestures or intimacies that represent a connection between people and I take this habit into my self portraiture by photographing the relationship I have with myself. This series, which I like to call Vulnerability, is the exploration of trying to conceal one’s self from whatever chaos the world may bring about. It’s about innocence and youth and clinging onto the familiarity. I try to connect my work to something greater than myself and reveal small bits of truth in this world from what I observe in my surroundings. While the series is about trying to hide in some respects, it is also about facing the unknown. Vulnerability is courage, and that is something I try to convey through my photography.